


Frost

by georgiamagnolia



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiamagnolia/pseuds/georgiamagnolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are storms outside as well as in when decisions must be made.</p><p>((originally posted elsewhere January 2K11))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frost

Standing at the window, he studied patterns. The city skyline; the lights coming on in the skyscrapers, along the streets far below blinking slow reds and yellows and greens. He stood and watched the lines of those patterns blur as the evening gave over into night and the glow of those points of light became haloed in the cold air.

“Snow’s on the way.”

“So the weatherman reports,” Illya said as he turned from the window.

Napoleon brought with him the scent and sensation of the coming storm, the cold clinging to his clothes. “I hope you planned for dinner in tonight, it’s not fit for man or THRUSH out there.”

“I don’t know, Napoleon, bitter seems fitting for most of the THRUSH I have encountered.” Illya stepped away from the window and towards the corner cupboard where the whiskey was stored. Without asking he took out a bottle and poured a drink for his partner and handed it to him.

Napoleon nodded his thanks and held up the glass, touching the edge of it to Illya’s glass of vodka. “Your health, partner.”

“And yours, Napoleon.”

They sat and drank in silence, the dim room becoming full dark before they were done.

The wind came up as they finished dinner, howling down the canyons between the city buildings and driving the snow against the windows with sharp taps. Illya was once again at the glass, watching the hard snow thrown by the storm, no softly falling beauty in this wind.

“Come to bed, Illya. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know it. Come to bed.”

Illya turned and allowed his partner to tug him toward the short hall leading to the bedrooms and bath. In the dark doorway Illya stopped and pulled Napoleon around to face him, the faintest trace of light from the streetlamps barely showing him an outline of his partner. Neither said a word as Illya pulled Napoleon to him, a fierce kiss pressed to his mouth.

Napoleon responded, allowing Illya’s tongue to slip past his lips and teeth to plunge into the warmth and whiskey touched tongue met vodka, their mouths fused as hands slipped buttons from buttonholes, slid under clothing and pushed shirts and holsters aside. Clothing melted away from their consciousness as their attention was all for skin on skin, the sensation of hands sliding along ribs and hips, fingertips tracing patterns on necks, following lines of scars across backs and chests. They rolled one another over the wide bed, fighting for dominance and yet neither wanting to win for too long, eager to give and take back touch for touch, sensation for sensation, nip and suck and stroke for stroke.

Napoleon pulled Illya close and breathed his request in his lover’s ear, was met with a growling assent and slid his hands low across Illya’s back to pull him closer, callused fingers digging into strong thighs, teeth sinking into Illya’s shoulder as his own groan turned to a matching growl of need.

Illya’s quick fingers made short work of preparing his lover even as Napoleon demanded he take and damn the consequences that may come with morning, but Illya was nothing if not thorough. And the wait, short as it was, heightened Napoleon’s demand and desire and finally desperation before Illya relented and slid his diamond hard cock into the heat of Napoleon’s body.

Napoleon arched off the bed, pulling Illya deeper and hissing his satisfaction as Illya paused, deep as he could go. Illya stroked himself in and out of his lover’s body with a rocking, easy pace, building little by little until Napoleon was gasping from the sensation. Only then did Illya speed up, stroking Napoleon’s hard cock in rhythm with his thrusts, head thrown back and both of them calling out with inarticulate words as the world they created between the two of them exploded and they came one after the other and collapsed in the tangled sheets, finally exhausted and spent.

Napoleon woke to a still warm bed, Illya hadn’t been gone from it long. He stood and saw that their scattered clothing had been gathered and tossed toward the hamper, their weapons placed on bedside tables. He padded to the livingroom to find Illya again at the window.

The wind was calm again and the storm had turned soft, drifting fat lacy flakes of snow down from the cloud lowered sky. Feathering patterns of frost were creeping from the edges of the glass, encroaching on the cityscape beyond.

Napoleon stood behind Illya, waiting.

“Life would be much easier if I were the cold Siberian wolf they expect me to be, you know that, Napoleon?”

“It takes more work to be stoic than not.”

Illya turned, saw what he always saw in his partner’s eyes, his lover’s eyes; he saw acceptance, understanding. And a refusal to make his decisions for him.

“It’s a brilliant opportunity,” Illya said and the only indication of Napoleon’s thoughts was a fast tightening of his eyes, as if he was mentally preparing for a blow he knew would hit without mercy. “But it’s not for me. A decade ago, perhaps. But it is not what I want now, or ever. I am where I want to be, where I am needed.”

Napoleon’s eyes closed on the relief he knew he was broadcasting and he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. When he opened them his joy was palpable, spreading across his face with his smile. It was met by an equal smile from his partner.

“Come to bed, Napoleon. Tomorrow is taken care of for now.”

The frost continued to grow across the glass of the window, painting patterns across the glass that blocked out the world beyond, if only for a moment while the lovers inside the warm darkness celebrated something that felt very much like a homecoming in the storm.


End file.
